The note
by cornwallace
Summary: We could do without forever just to be who we are, couldn't we?


When you have something in your hands, no matter how special it is, there is an inevitability of its loss.  
This is not something I tend to consider in these times of holding.  
More, as I wish for something to last forever, I feel my heart bursting with warm light in the stead of the sad inevitability.

It isn't until after loss that I typically experience the dark clouds of finality cast overhead.

On my planet, it is better to treasure a fortune spent than squander what you have or have had with worry. Still, it is difficult to look past the storm and into the uncertainty.

You always talk about how much you value this aspect of me.  
It is easy to know you are truthful without reading your mind. 

* * *

"AAAAAAAA!"  
You want to throw the controller but you will not. You are past that stage of your life. "Fuckin'. Goddamn. POopnuggets. Krrr."

I look up from my studies and feel my eyebrow raising on its own. "Are you in the true distress?"  
I know you are not. You know that I know you are not.

Your collapse onto the bed is dramatic as well as comical. You are pretending that your body is lifeless but it is not.  
"Miyu?" I question, cocking my head to the side. Playing along with your game. "Miyu, are you sentient?"

You do not respond. You are a good pretender.

Leave my desk and crawl over to you on the bed. "Miyu if you are sentient you really should say something. I do not like these games."  
A lie you know to be a lie. These games are as adorable as you are.  
But again you do not respond.

"Miyu," I say to you, poking you in the ribs. "If you do not become sentient this instant I shall find all your hidden snordlings and snack upon your sacred space treats on my own accord. You will be left with nary a bibblet, and I shall be as full as a Wrog, giggling to myself with the fruits of your truest desire."

Struggling to hold back a smile, and not quite successful at such an endeavor, you remain silent.

"Aha!" I tease, "I have seen through the veil of your falsehoods! A smirk upon your face would indicate that you are sentient!"

You turn your head away from me, and mutter through a suppressed giggle. "No, I'm dead."

"The dead do not smirk! The dead do not declare their deadness! I smell fibbery and rouse afoot!"

"I'm a ghost. A shell of my former self. Woe is me and mortality be cursed!"

"Do ghosts laugh?" I ask, poking at your ribs some more and tickling them.  
You laugh and squirm away from me, playfully defensive.

"They do!" you declare. "They laugh and fart and lay still when it suits them."

"That does not sound like any ghost I have ever heard of."

"Yeah, well," you say, rolling your eyes. "How many ghosts do you know?"

"One," I say, cocking my head again. "Though I get the feeling she's generally a fibber."

"She's not," you say responding to yourself. "She is the most honest ghost in the Lylat system. Miyu the honest ghost, they call her. She can be seen sniffing at space rocks and cursing the video game that killed her."

I lean in close and slide my shoulder into your armpit before finding comfort in the shape of your neck. Your arm is as accommodating as you are kind as it wraps around me.  
"Shall I destroy this video game of yours that killed you to avenge your body so that your spirit may lay to rest?"

"Nawh, it was my own fault. Any unfinished business I have on this plane of existence is to sort out my own personal demons."

"Then I will slay your demons," I say, closing my eyes and speaking into your flesh. My hand wraps tightly around your torso, bringing you closer to me. Bringing us closer together. "I will slay them so that you may rest peacefully."

"God," you say, the playful mask of a ghost slipping from your face. "You already have."

I am humbled by the honor and my heart is bursting with warm light. 

* * *

You tell me about the game you are playing, and the stories and name you have invented for the character you are playing.  
I do not understand the mechanics of such an endeavor but do so enjoy watching your eyes light up as you relay to me your internal adventures.

There are as many stars in your eyes as there are in the universe and just as much alluring mystery. I do not read your mind as that would be intrusive. Our communication process is far too valuable and interesting to take shortcuts.

Even though you wouldn't mind and that you have expressed this.

There is so much value in asking what you are thinking and experiencing your attempts to express it. Perhaps this says more about who you are than your uninhibited thoughts ever would.

You ask me about me about my studies and I tell you progress is being made. I am less in need of this translator every day, understanding more and more of the things you say without it. You tell me not to drown myself in words. I tell you I do not think it is books that will kill me. You tell me I know what you mean. I tell you I do. You make a silly face and you say that you know that I do.

Our eyes close and we kiss. 

* * *

"So, I tell that idiot," Fay says, chewing and swallowing the onion ring in her mouth, "it's the newidian transligmafier. That shit is fried. You're jamming it with your awkward ass switching on the control panel. APPARENTLY this was an assault on his masculinity and we spent two fucking hours troubleshooting everything on his arwing BUT the transligmafier. I told him again, dude, it's the fucking newidian transligmafier, only this time I leave out the bit about him flooding it, right? Dumb bean checks it and you know what he says? 'Good call, Fay!' Like I didn't tell him this shit TWO fucking hours ago!"

"That's Fox McCloud for ya," you say, rolling your eyes.

"I know my shit, alright? Just because I pilot an interceptor doesn't mean I don't know my way around a basic arwing."

"I know," you say politely.

"But does HE? You know what, I bet he does. I bet that son of a bitch knows it and is just trying to get under my tits. I will shit liquid fury."

I can't help but giggle at the concept. Sometimes Fay says the things that do not make sense, similar to you. It is cute and interesting behavior, because I know it to be deliberate.

"Fury has its demands," you say. "Bequeath or be queef."

"Your allegory fills me with godless ambition."

"And yours?" You dramatically sigh and put your hand over your heart while looking straight up. "A nail in my goddamn taint. The good kind."

"Feverish is your accusation. Pray you don't admit it again."

"Naturally. A good nail in my taint would be a spiritual event by comparison."

"Glad I could be of service," Fay says, popping in another onion ring.

I notice you haven't touched your food. I don't say anything.  
She chews and swallows.

"You don't make it any easier to understand your language in any capacity," I tell the both of you and the both of you find this amusing."

"We're sorry, collectively, I think," you say.

Fay agrees, smirking as she scratches the back of her head. "Yeah. There's no reason for you to be subject to us."

"It is okay," I say, smiling at you and her. "The most interesting plants do grow from feces."

Fay almost chokes on a mouthful of onion rings before barking out laughter. After drawing a mouthful of water, you cover your mouth with the back of your hand and suppress your own laughter.

I am pleased to have amused you.

You choke a bit on your water and I ask if you are okay and you nod and say you are fine.

Fay resumes speaking. "Avarice will be the consumption of itself."

And your miserable eyes meet mine before deterring their trajectory. You know that I can tell you are feeling miserable and so you look away.  
You are afraid of showing weakness to me because you do not want to hurt me. But it is not weakness.

"Miyu?" I call to you, and I am led to believe Fay notices my concern.

You shake your head searching for some reason or other for an understanding of why you are feeling the way that you are.  
"My head feels-" you start, rubbing your eyes. "I need some water.  
You start to get up.

"I will get it," I say, and you stop where you are.

"No, it's fine, I'm fine, I just-"

"I am in the need of a refill of the juice anyway," I say, smiling, putting you slightly at ease.

I am not lying and she knows it.  
I do not mind embracing outside circumstances to be helping you, Miyu.

But when I refill myself the juice, and refill your cup the water and ice, I am turning around to you sprawled out against the tile floor, and I'm afraid the drinks do not make the journey, but perform a tidal wave on the tile floor for the insect creatures.

When I am on my knees on the floor by your side and lifting you up with Fay to take you to the medical wing, your head lolls around the top of your torso like a doll.  
And I promise to you it will be okay even though you cannot hear me and ultimately I am trying to promise this to myself. 

* * *

After inquiring about the diagnosis, you tell me you don't want to talk about it.  
For the first time ever you ask if I am reading your mind.  
I tell you no, I'm not, and I am not.

You seem satisfied.

You tell me the Feragott Fair is in commission in Corneria in a few days. You ask me if I want to go.  
I tell you I do.

You are pleased, but stop yourself from crying. There are some things I can't help but pick up on, but you don't tell me about it so I don't say anything. 

* * *

"Can I win you something?"

"You have already won me!" I joke, pretending to swoon into her arms which so graciously take advantage of the presentation. "You fought six nordlors and seven bungusboos to win my honor, and still, you asked for a kiss! So thoughtful! So suave of you in nature!"

You giggle as I do. "May I please have a kiss?"

A more than genuine smile unto you. "You may."

And we kiss! And it is blissful.

"I want to win a prize in your name," you say, righting my posture with your own.  
With your hands on my shoulders and your eyesight deep into mine.

"You do not need to prove your worth to me, Miyu the great. I am the smitten," I say.

But you shake your head and redirect me by the shoulders before pointing at the booth of your choice.  
"Let's talk about the pink elephant," you say.

"The pink elephant?" I ask.

"The pink elephant," you say. "It will always be in the room and you can talk about it whenever you'd like!"

When you win it for me after a few supported tries and we finally kiss you stuff it into my breast.

There's a brightness in this stuffed animal I choose not to explore without you.

Because there's something else, isn't there? 

* * *

When I dream, I dream of an open field.  
When I wake, I know you are gone.

You've left a note in the arms of the pink elephant in the room. And when I open it, I know.

I know you are gone and you have left without consequence.

You are scared. You know watching you deteriorate will take its toll on me.  
But... You know that I don't mind. That I'd rather be with you than without you.

Still. You are scared. I understand that. I appreciate it. I would feel the same way.

I can't tell you that I miss you. I can't tell you that I'm scared. But I'm sure you know these things.

Ultimately, you know that I am waiting.  
Waiting for you to come back into my life in a physical sense.  
Whether it's you finding comfort in my love for you, or...

Or waiting for your grave to be ready for my visit.

The note you left being something so simple and yet, so genuine.  
"No matter where I've gone, I'm always here."

I'll always know you for who you are and love you for that. It's just a matter of time before we're together again, in the ultimate smear of existence. You always said you admired this trait of mine, so I won't look for you.

I just know.  
I just know we'll find each other again.

Somehow.


End file.
